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SICUT PATRIBUS 

AND 

OTHER VERSE 

B Y 

OSCAR FAY ADAMS 




PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR 






LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

WAR 6 1906 



^ CoDyr 



^ CoDyriffht Entry 
CLASS Ct XXc. No. 
^ CO^Y B. 



COPYRIGHT, 1906 

BY 

OSCAR FAY ADAMS 



THE AUTHOR 

TO 

HIS DEAR FRIEND 
JAMES EELLS 



This Edition of Sicut Patribus and 
Other Verse, printed by Winthrop 
B. Jones at Boston, Massachusetts, 
during the Winter of 1906 consists 
of Five Hundred and Ten Copies 
of which this is Number 



CONTENTS 



Sicut Patribus 



Sicut Patribus 



II 



Cathedral Verse 



The Front of Peterborough Cathedral . 


25 


At the Tomb of William of Wykeham 


27 


At Lincoln .... 


28 


Evensong at Norwich Cathedral 


30 


In the Galilee at Durham 


32 


In Waltham Abbey . 


83 


In the Crypt at Winchester 


37 


On a Grave at Christchurch, Hants . . 


38 


Miserrimus . . . . 


39 


At the Grave of Jane Carlyle . 


40 


The Burning of Conrad's Choir 


41 


III 




Miscellaneous 




A Withered Rose 


50 


Inevitable 




50 


Black Rock, Nantasket 




50 


December's Wooing . 




51 


Reality 




52 


Dear Heart, Believe . 




53 


Cambridge 




54 



Naboth 






56 


On Truro Moors 






60 


At Parting 






61 


Ut Quid Domine 






62 


O Friend Estranged . 






64 


The Artist's Last Picture 






65 


In Peace and Quietness 






67 


In the Library at Elmwood 






69 


Hull 






71 


Which 






72 


What Can Drear December Sa 


y 




78 


Horatio Nelson Powers 






74 


A Memory at Christmastide 






74 


Love Is So Sweet 






75 


Before the Gate of Storms 






76 


At Bay 






77 


A Laggard Spring 






79 



IV 

Post-Laureate Idylls 



SECOND SERIES 



The Pleading of Dagonet 
The Vision of Sir Lionel 
The Pleasaunce of Maid Marian 
Gawain and Marjorie , 



83 

92 

102 

111 



POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 




SICUT PATRIBUS 

A Poem read at the annual meeting of Tufts Chapter, 
Phi Beta Kappa, June 17, 1902 

I. 

Not mine, not mine the hand to sweep the strings 

With note triumphal, on this hallowed day. 
I am no prophet to foretell smooth things. 
Or choose a nation's glory for my lay. 
The time for paeans is not yet, or past ; 

Rather the shuddering call that strikes us dumb. 
When, unto consciences' aroused at last. 
The mutterings of a grim tomorrow come. 
These be no times for lightsome song : 
The shadow of a mighty wrong 
Darkens the path before. 
Clings like a mist behind ; 
We crouch, who stood of yore ; 
We grope, who now are blind. 



10 SICUr PATRIBUS 

Alas for us! the sons of patriot sires. 

Breathing the air of freedom from our birth. 
Who might have kindled in far lands the fires 

Of liberty, transfigurer of earth ; 
Who might have raised a grateful people up 
To drain deep draughts from freedom's brimming 

cup; 
Who might have shown them the sure way to 

peace — 
Alas for us! who did no deeds like these. 

II. 

Alas for us! who light the fires of hate 

Instead ; who dash from eager lips the wnne 
Of freedom, crying: **Ours, the island state! 

'Tis w^e must hold it by the right divine 
Of Saxon peoples, whose benignant sway 
Inferior races may not once gainsay." 

Ah me! what sounds are these. 

Borne o'er Pacific seas? 

The wail of a people's dirge. 

That swells as the gathering surge. 

Filling our ears with shame. 

Staining our country's name. 



SICUT PATRIBUS 11 ) 

1 



How do we brand the sullen Turk who makes 
Armenian villages a smoking waste, 
A heap of carnage ; or his pleasure takes 
In torture by his hapless victims faced ? 

No more may we, our Pharisaic hands 
Uplifting, call for vengeance on the Turk, 

While in far tropic isles our armed bands 
Engage, relentless, in like cursed work. 

III. 

In shadowy ranks before me seem to rise 

The men of Concord and of Bunker Hill : 
Brave souls, who wrung from England that fair 
prize, 
A nation's freedom, that we cherish still. 
With questioning, sad tjQSy 
As in a strange surprise. 

They stand 
That plain heroic band, 
With parted lips, as they who do behold 

In deep amaze some undreamed horror wrought. 
And pant for action, as in days of old 

To Freedom's altar each his offering brought. 



12 SICUT PATRIBUS 

Ah, might they speak! these shadowy risen sires. 
Who doubts what words of theirs would shame 
our souls ? 
The fierce rebukings of our mad desires. 

The stern contempt for our unworthy goals. 
They never learned in diplomatic phrase 

To hide the scheming that plain speech would 
shame. 
Their words, straightforward as their clear-eyed 
gaze. 
Revealed their instant purpose, praise or blame. 



But 



we, 



Heirs of a land made free 

By blood and strife of these. 
Have walked in stranger ways : 

Unto new gods our knees 
Have bent, our lips sung praise. 

IV. 

** ToUy sons of ours!" J seem to hear them say 
Drunk with the wine of conquest, you ! 

What sign of kinship can ye show today 

To prove, past cavil, this your lineage true ? 

We grasped the sword to battle for the right 
To stand as freemen forth before the world. 



SICUT PATRIBUS 13 ; 

'Gainst subject peoples is your armour dight, 'j 

For greed of conquest is your flag unfurled. \ 
ToUy sons of ours, who turn your swords' keen 

blade \ 

Against the brown man, fighting for his own ? j 

Intent on hearkening the behest of trade ' 

Your human hearts grow cold as any stone. 

ToUy sons of ours, who fling aside the law ^ 

And doom the shuddering Negro to the stake ] 

In wild revenge, or cause the halter draw, j 

Sans judge and jury, as your choice may take — ! 

Ton, carry into distant tropic lands ; 

The flag of progress, and the Christian cross — 

Alas! your house is founded on the sands ! 

Your pride is baseless, and your glory, loss. \ 
Not from unworthy palms 

Will men receive the alms \ 

You think to dole. ■ 

The freedom-loving soul ■ 
Seeks only that, and that denied, he spurns 

Your vaunted progress, and your profi^ered Christ, ; 

Meets all your wiles with wiles of his, and turns i 

A scornful foeman, whom you deemed enticed. 

False to the lessons that ye learned in youth, i 

How dare ye pray for victory in your strife .? \ 



14 SICUT PATRIBUS 

ToUy sons of ours, that with no thought of ruth 
Would slay the native, pleading for his life! 
Ah, no! and yet. 
Who are ye, set 
In this same land we died to free ? 
Ye bear our names, and if it be 
Our blood is yours, then did we die in vain ; 

The pillars that we raised you overturn ; 
Unholy purpose binds you with its chain. 

And all we strove for you would fain unlearn." 

V. 

They fade from sight, these builders of our State, 

And in their stead appear the youthful shades 
Of those, our brothers, whom we sent but late 
To wage fierce combat in Philippine glades ; 
To gather glory, where no glory waits ; 

To strive for honour, where no honour calls ; 
To bar with bayonets the opening gates 

Whereat the Malay, faint for freedom, falls. 
** O Motherland!" they cry : 
*< It had been bliss to die 
Fighting to save the State, 
But our ignoble fate 
Doomed us to die in vain ; 



SI CUT PATRIBUS 15 

Our blood and pain 

Spent but for naught ; 

Our hands, that might have brought 
Heahng and peace to a long subject race. 
Red with their blood, instead ; the crowning grace 
Of conflict, a just cause, denied our souls. 
While o'er our heads the tide of battle rolls. 
O Motherland! that you should send us then 
To die for conquest, who had died for men!" 

VI. 

These, too, depart, and in a shadowy cloud 
A host of swarthy figures 'round me crowd 
Using a stranger speech 
As from the lips of each 
Escapes the bitter cry of men deceived. 

"We trusted you," the voices seem to urge. 
** We in your faith and purpose true believed. 
Till, like a blow from Heaven, fell the scourge. 
And in sad truth we learned 
Our friends to foes had turned. 
And Spanish fetters were reforged anew. 

Ye might have had our love, who gain a hate 
Undying, might have garnered praises through 
The years to come from a new island State, 



16 SICUr PATRIBUS \ 

But hearkening to greed, : 

Turned from us in our need. 

And, blindly reckoning on our feebleness, ; 

Struck down the hand that had been raised to bless. j 

How have ye dealt with those who would be free j 

As ye yourselves ? What lessons have ye taught ; 

Of gentleness, and high humanity, \ 

Of Christian purpose and of noble thought ? ; 

Our smiling fields are waste j 

By Red War's fiery haste ; i 

Our smoking villages ; 

Proclaim the flight of Peace, 1 

And on the torturer's ear unheeded falls ' ( 

His victim's cry. Beside a hundred streams \ 

The unburied brown man lies, nor frenzied calls \ 

Of wife nor child shall rouse him from his dreams. < 

VII. \ 

A nation's honour trembles to its fall j 

When, at the call ; 
Of angry pride 

It swerves aside i 

From well-worn paths of truth and right ; 

And, conscious of its sad mistake, -? 
Speeds ever on, intent to fight 

'Gainst right itself sooner than make 

Confession : *' We have evil wrought, \ 



SICUT PATRIBUS 17 

But, having sinned, will sin no more ; 
We own our course with peril fraught. 

And turn to ways we trod of yore." 
Alas for us! who close resentful ears 

Against the urgings of that inner voice. 
And council take of our unworthy fears 

That press us onward to an evil choice. 
The Nemesis that follows swift upon 

The man or nation that provokes its wrath. 
Hath followed in our track, nor will begone 

Though flights of angels hovered o'er our path. 
The swift decay 
From day to day 
Of high ideals, purpose great. 
And brave imaginings for the State — 
The lust of empire, pushing to the wall 

The weaker races — greed of trade that pays 
No heed to aught but sordid gain — these all 

To our amaze 
Our shameful new inheritance are made. 

Blinding our eyes to deeds of violence. 
Closing our ears against the plea for aid. 

Cheating our souls with shallowest pretence. 
Alas! that we 
Who flamed with anger at the deeds of Spain 



18 SICUT PATRIBUS 

Done in our Western World, should stoop to be 
Her copy in the far Pacific main. 
Calling a world to witness that her crimes 

Demanded judgement swift and sure, we caught 
The sword and smote. And lo! the changeful 
times 

Reveal us to the same tribunal brought. 

VIII. 

Ill counsel they 
Who urge essay 
Persistent in a dubious course 

Though all the gathering signs, presage 
Moral defeat, and cry, perforce, 

** *Tis shameful weakness in our age. 
Not to press forward what is once begun." 
He is the coward who would seek to shun 

The consequence of turning back 

Upon his outward track ; 
Who fears the foolish word of fools pronounced 

Upon him, more than good men's honest scorn. 
The moral weakling he who hath renounced 

His better self, and soulless walks forelorn, 
And as the man, the nation that persists 

In ways mistaken, knowing its mistake ; 
Almighty purpose halts not nor desists 

Till erring peoples full confession make. 



SICUT PATRIBUS 19 



IX. 



Not all in vain 
Ye died, who dauntless laid 

With strife and pain 
The keelson of our Ship of State 

Though we have blindly strayed 
From out the narrow path of late. 

Somewhere within us there abides 
The passion for a righteous cause 

We learned from you. The swelling tides 
Of misdirected purpose pause 

Or ever they o'erwhelm us quite ; 
The waning light 
Ye kindled flames anew 
As we review 
Our heritage, and looking back 
Upon our erring track, 
Make high resolve again to be 

Worthy that ye 
Should own us as true sons and heirs. 
Mindful the while the alien shares 
With us at Freedom's gracious banquet spread. 
Nor e'en the humblest turns from thence unfed. 



20 SICUT PATRIBUS 

X. 

But you, our brothers, whose young lives 

Too soon were quenched across the seas — 
Are there no balms that ruth contrives ? 
No words to give your souls release ? 
Our erring Motherland 
Is slow to understand. 
But every life ye gave 
Shall help at last to save 
Her from herself, to bring her to her knees 

In penitence, and therefore not for naught. 

Ye, wrongly striving, passed. From you she 

caught 

The first misgivings that disturbed her peace 

That was not peace, her poor content 

That all her ways were Wisdom-sent. 

XI. 

Nor yet in vain ye died, our foes, whom we. 

But for our blinded eyes, had made our friends : 

The freedom that ye strove for yet shall be 
The guerdon, and the eternal sky that bends 

Above both lands may see 

With joy the Filipino's flag unfurled 

And a new nation born into the world. 



SI CUT PATRIBUS 21 

The memory of those who fell ] 

In combat stern for that high end \ 

Shall sanctify your State, shall tell \ 

A never-wearying tale, shall send ; 

Its inspiration unto those who stay ! 

Behind to welcome in the longed for day, ] 

And fill them with such love for their fair land • 

They never understand \ 

That have not freely poured their choicest wine 

Upon the altar of a cause divine. 

XII. 

O God of Nations! we have sorely sinned. ^ 

Thy wind { 

Of destiny we may not stand before. -\ 

Thy open door 1 

Of pardon close not yet ] 

Upon a people who | 

Repent. O God! forget \ 

Our sin. Let all we do ^ 

But show our penitence. Renew our mind. ■ 

Point us the way we should remorseful tread, ■ 

That we, remembering with tears, may find \ 

While we have sinned, indeed. Truth is not dead, ! 

Though we, for gain, \ 

Against her turned our arms, ■ 

And would have slain \ 

Her with our selfish harms! i 



CATHEDRAL VERSE 




THE FRONT OF PETERBOROUGH 
CATHEDRAL 

He reared the minster portal long ago. 

The ** Golden Borough's" chiefest architect. 

Scooped in its rocky face three caverns deep. 

Piled 'gainst their sides aspiring carven reeds. 

Banded as those that stand in neighbour fens. 

Raised o'er this work of his a soaring mass 

Of pediment, and pinnacle, and tower. 

And spire — then passed into the darkness whence 

He sprang, and no man knoweth of his name. 

Within the minster aisles lie abbots old. 

Frowning in marble as they frowned in flesh. 

And all who will may know them as they were ; 

But he that wrought the centuries' delight. 

The glorious minster's crowning grace, lives not 

In stiffly sculptured effigy like these. 

Nor on cathedral fabric-rolls are writ 

The letters of his name. What matters it? 



26 CATHEDRAL VERSE 

He breathed one song, this singer of the past. 
And all the air yet trembles to his tones ; 
He wrote his verse across the minster front 
Where all the world might see, and not one line 
The world has lost through centuries' sun and storm. 
What matters that he left his verse unsigned ? 
What boots it how he looked to those who saw ? 

Ah! Peterborough's poet questionless 
Knew well how scant the worth of name beside 
Achievement's crowning skill. The little deed 
May fitly claim the signature's reward 
Scrawled underneath, but not the master's work 
Needs blurring with the master's name, and thus 
The triple gate of Peterborough gleams 
Through all the ages from its maker's times 
To these, as fair as only that is fair 
Which has no need that men should ask **Who 
wrought ? ' * 



CATHEDRAL VERSE 27 

AT THE TOMB 
OF WILLIAM OF WYKEHAM 

Builder and prelate, dust five hundred years. 

Who lent the Norman's handivv^ork such grace 

The Norman never knew, that Walkelin's nave 

Men call the nave of Wykeham, what dost thou 

In some far world beyond our ken ? Palm pressed 

To palm five centuries have seen thee here 

Enchantried, and from scholar lips thy praise 

At Winton and at Oxford echoes still. 

Dost somewhere rest, as this thy marble rests. 

Or art thou, builder-bishop, evermore 

Striving in other fields, in nobler toils. 

Serenely glad the while as one that sees 

From some high place, untouched by time, past 



Grow ever vaster as the centuries fall ? 



28 CATHEDRAL VERSE 

AT LINCOLN 

When I went up the minster tower. 
The minster clock rang out the hour ; 
The restless organ far below 
Sent tides of music to and fro. 
That rolled through nave and angel choir. 
Whose builder knew what lines inspire. 
And filled the lantern space profound 
With climbing waves of glorious sound. 
As I went up the minster tower 
What time the chimes gave forth the hour. 

When I stood on the minster tower 

The lark above me sent a shower 

Of happy notes, that filtered through 
The clouds that flecked the sky's soft blue. 
And mingled with the nearer tones 
Of jackdaw calls and stockdove moans. 
While every breeze that round me swirled 
Brought some sweet murmur from the world. 

As I stood on the minster tower 

What time the lark forsook her bower. 



CATHEDRAL FERSE 29 

When I came down the minster tower. 
Again the chimes proclaimed the hour. 

Again the mighty organ rolled 

Its thunders through the arches old. 

While blended with its note so strong 

Soft rose and fell the evensong : 

And all the earth, it seemed to me. 

Was still by music held in fee. 
As I came down the minster tower 
What time the clock chimed slow the hour. 



30 CATHEDRAL VERSE 

EVENSONG AT NORWICH CATHEDRAL 

Quickly 'midst these arches gray- 
Dies the short November day ; 
Through the nave the shadows march, 
Muffling column, pier and arch. 
Fining huge triforium 
With their forces fast they come ; 
Sw^eeping through the long clerestory. 
Blotting from the sight the hoary 
Ribbed and sculptured roof at last 
Whence the day more slowly past ; 
While the great choir windows' ghmmer 
Grows each moment fainter, dimmer, — 
Now the gloom hides everything! 

Sudden, then, the tower bells ring. 
And along that mighty nave. 
Dark before as deepest cave. 
Lines of light start forth and burn. 
Sharp revealing every turn. 
Curve, or line, though far aloof 
In the groins of yonder roof. 
Carved by chisel mediaeval. 
Smile of saint or leer of devil. 



CATHEDRAL FERSE 31 



Under these clear lines of fire 
Move the purple-cassocked choir. 
As through aisles and arcades long 
Rolls the tide of evensong. 
And the organ's undertone 
Trembles through the walls of stone. 
While the anthem note is telling, 
«* Oh, how amiable Thy dwelling.** 

Swells and falls the song of praise 
In the mellow music maze. 
Echoes from each far arcade 
Like the songs by seraphs made. 
Wanders on from wall to wall. 
Fainter seems, then ceases all. 
Till the chanter from his seat 
Murmurs benedictions sweet. 
Then the organ peals once more 
While across the footworn floor 
Choir and hooded canons go. 
Two by two and moving slow. 
Till the last white robe is made 
Invisible in columned shade. 
And a moment after then. 
Floats a solemn, sweet **Amen!" 



32 CATHEDRAL VERSE 

Soon the lines of fire die out. 
Darkness folds its arms about 
All within these mighty walls. 
When the last faint echo falls 
Night and silence join their files 
In the long cathedral aisles. 



IN THE GALILEE AT DURHAM 

CONFESSION 

We have erred and strayed from Thy ways : 
We have followed too much our desires. 

While we hid from Thy heart-searching gaze. 

We have erred and strayed from Thy ways. 

And have wandered in sin many days. 

Where no breath from Thy presence inspires. 

We have erred and strayed from Thy ways : 
We have followed too much our desires. 



CATHEDRAL VERSE 33 

IN WALTHAM ABBEY 

Here is the temple he builded, he, Harold, the 

bravest of Saxons. 
Somewhere near it he lies, where once rose the 

canons' high altar. 
Altar and rood and choir walls indeed have long 

crumbled to ruin ; 
Only the nave abides yet, with its double arcade of 

huge columns, 
Carven eight centuries since with deep groovings of 

spiral and chevron. 
Here when the traitorous Tostig, his brother, had 

fallen at Stamford, 
Hard by Northumbrian Derwent, with Harold 

Hardrada, the Norseman, 
Came, with a few in his train, the victor. King 

Harold, the Saxon. 
Afar in the north the foes of his England were 

broken and flying ; 
Anear in the south the foes of his England were 

gathered together. 



34 CATHEDRAL VERSE 

There in the north had he shivered the might of 

fierce Harold Hardrada ; 
Now in the south must he scatter the armies of 

William the Norman, 
He that would make England free, he, Harold, the 

great son of Godwin. 
So, as he entered the fane that in happier time he 

had builded. 
Slowly he trod the long nave till he came before 

the high altar. 
There bowed him down to the pavement, and 

tarried prostrate and silent. 

Shadows of morning had shortened to midday and 

once more had lengthened 
Ere he rose up from the stones, that, it may be, had 

heard his petitions, 
God and they only, for no human ear heard aught 

in that silence. 
Who may tell what were the thoughts of the king 

in those hours of abasement ? 



CATHEDRAL VERSE 35 

Better than he knew no one the power of the 

Norman invader. 
Better than he who should know the strength or the 

weakness of England ? 
Was it foretold, as he lay there in humble, silent 

entreaty. 
What was to hap on the morrow, who was to win 

in the conflict ? 
Was it revealed that the day at Senlac should be 

William's, not Harold's, 
Or was it left in the veil of the future, dark wrapt 

from foreknowledge ? 
This only is told us : That when the long vigil 

was ended and Harold, 
Rising, had passed down the nave to the door at 

the westward, and turning. 
Faced yet again the high altar, the great rood before 

it moved slowly. 
Leaned itself forward, then bowed as in pity, to 

Harold. 



36 CATHEDRAL VERSE 

So runs the legend of Waltham concerning that 

day ere the battle. 
Forth from the abbey he went on that evening in 

early October, 
Mustered his legions together at London and marched 

to the southward. 
On to the hill of Senlac, where he pitched his camp 

on the morrow. 
On to the gloom of defeat and of death at the hands 

of the Norman, 
On to the glory of death for the earldom of Wessex 

and England! 

This is the shrine of his building : Here his foot- 
steps awakened the echoes 

( Echoes reverberate still through eight centuries lost 
in the darkness) 

On that far distant day when he moved 'mid these 
arches in anguish of spirit. 



CATHEDRAL VERSE 37 

IN THE CRYPT AT WINCHESTER | 

DE PROFUNDIS 1 

Out of the deep I cry to Thee \ 

Who notest e'en the sparrow's fall : I 

Lord, be merciful to me! ^ 

1 may not rise unless set free 

From burdens that my soul enthrall : J 

Out of the deep I cry to Thee. \ 

I strive, yet fail, and seem to be i 

The sport of fate, while doubts appall : j 

O Lord, be merciful to me! '\ 

Dark is my path ; I may not see j 

How good is yet the fruit of all : ] 

Out of the deep I cry to Thee. i 

..1 

O let my way with Thine agree ; i 

(My way, o'erhung as with a pall :) \ 

O Lord, be merciful to me ! 

Incline Thine ear unto my plea ; J 

Break not the reed, but hear my call : l 

Out of the deep I cry to Thee, ; 

O Lord, be merciful to me! \ 



38 CATHEDRAL FERi>E 

ON A GRAVE 
IN CHRISTCHURCH, HANTS 

Turning from Shelley's sculptured face aside. 
And pacing thoughtfully the silent aisles 
Of the grey church that overlooks the smiles 
Of the glad Avon hastening its tide 
To join the seaw^ard-winding Stour, I spied 
Close at my feet a slab among the tiles 
That paved the minster, where the sculptor's 
files 
Had graven only *«Died of Grief," beside 
The name of her who slept below. Sad Soul ! 
A century has fled since kindly death 

Cut short that life which nothing knew but 
_ grief. 
And still your fate stirs pity. Yet the whole 

Wide world is full of graves like yours, for breath 
Of sorrow kills as oft as frost the leaf. 



CATHEDRAL VERSE 39 

MISERRIMUS 



This is the sole inscription on the stone which covers the 
remains of the Reverend Thomas Morris, in the north walk of the 
cloisters at Worcester Cathedral. He was a Minor Canon of Worcester 
who refused to take the oath of allegiance to William III., and was 
consequently reduced to great poverty. He died at the age of eighty- 
eight, and at his request this single word was placed upon his 
tombstone. 



**Most wretched one!" No, not to him belongs 
Misery's preeminence in this sad world's sight 
Who suiFereth for conscience and the right. 

As he deems right. To him the scourging thongs 

Of adverse fortune and the countless wrongs 
His fellows cast upon him are too light 
Afflictions to endure forever. Spite 

Has never hushed one note of heavenly songs. 

But he that gains the plaudits of the crowd 
For deeds unworthy, hears men name his sins 
As virtues, and thereof wax emulous, — 
He only that such shameful honour wins, 

(Not this non-juring priest), should cry aloud 
Past hope, '* Miserrimus! Miserrimus!^'* 



40 CATHEDRAL VERSE 

AT THE GRAVE OF JANE CARLYLE 

HADDINGTON ABBEY 

Here on your grave as evening falls. 

Sunk 'mid the turf and daisies. 
Within these roofless abbey walls, 

I read a husband's praises. 

Of you to whom in life he showed 

So little love and kindness. 
But on your gravestone overflowed 

In vain remorse for blindness. 

Not for his pain my eyes are wet. 

But for your lot so bitter. 
What is to me his weak regret ? 

His silence had been fitter. 



CATHEDRAL VERSE 41 

THE BURNING 
OF CONRAD'S CHOIR, A. D. 1174 

Ger-vase, a monk of Christ Church, Canterbury, speaks : 

Ninety long years have I dwelt here, and much 

have I seen in that space. 
I was the least of the monks when first I came to 

this place. 
Now is there none in the convent that numbers 

more years than I ; 
An' God wills I may call them a hundred before 

my time comes to die. 
I can remember the building of Conrad's great, 

glorious choir ; 
Conrad, the wonderful mason, and, after Ernulphus, 

our prior. 

Month after month wrought the workmen, and 

year after year rang the blows 
Of hammer and trowel on stonework till all that 

fair building arose. 
When they had end King Henry, and David king 

of the Scots, 
Came hither with bishops in train each bringing 

from holiest spots 
Some priceless relic to lay in that mighty cathedral 

of ours. 



42 CATHEDRAL VERSE 

Never since Solomon hallowed the Temple to 

Heavenly Powers 
Did mortal behold such a sight as I saw on that far 

distant day 
As twice round the walls with loud chanting passed 

the gorgeous and endless array. 

Forty years after I watched all one night with the 

rest in this place. 
While beside us tall candles threw flickers of light 

on a murdered man's face. 
Becket, our bishop, it was, by those knights so 

wickedly slain 
Just as the bell rang for vespers and we had 

assembled again. 
From behind Saint Benedict's altar I saw the foul 

murder begun. 
And there, with his half-severed arm, fled Grim 

when the murder was done. 
Never thought 1 a far woefuller sight than this to 

behold 
Only a few years after, ere the summer had quite 

waxen old. 
Feeble indeed is our wisdom and we know not 

what shall betide. 
While above and beneath and around us the hosts 

of Almighty abide. 



CATHEDRAL VERSE 43 

Midnight had come and the prior had bidden me 

watch till the day. 
After our habit at Christ Church, where the bones 

of the great Dunstan lay. 
So through the cloister I went at the hour my 

watch should begin 
Till I came to where Becket was slain by those 

terrible minions of sin. 
There, as I stayed for a moment, to say a short 

prayer for the dead, 
I saw a red glow 'mid the arches, and on through 

the transept I sped 
And up the long steps to the choir : ah, woe for 

the terrible sight! 
From the steps to the shrine of Saint Dunstan the 

choir was ruddy with light. 
For flames had curled round the stalls and stretched 

themselves up to the roof. 
And, e'en as I gazed, caught the rafters and roared 

as the sea up aloof. 



44 CATHEDRAL VERSE 

They leaped from one beam to another, and the 

carven work melted like snow ; 
They surged up around the shrine pillars that bent 

like a tightly stretched bow ; 
And onward they rolled in vast billows ; the place 

was a horror of fire : 
The holiest spot in all England, our Conrad's 

glorious choir. 
Anon came the prior and the brothers : the people 

streamed in through the nave 
And they looked at the fiery tempest, and a 

horrible cry they gave 
That rang through the great nave arches, and rose 

o'er the dull roar of flame. 
As they called on the Lord in their madness and 

cursed his most reverend name. 
Still the surges of fire whirled upward till the choir 

roof crashed to the floor. 
And the flames mounted up to the heavens while the 

people blasphemed yet the more. 



CATHEDRAL FERSE 45 

They tore out their hair in their frenzy ; they beat 

at the walls with their hands. 
And they caught at the stones in the pavement as 

the wild waves clutch at the sands ; 
They dashed their heads 'gainst the pillars till blood 

was sprent over the space ; 
And they burst into terrible singing, as demons had 

stood in their place. 

** Now a curse on Saint Wilfred of Ripon, and a 

curse on Saint Blasius of Rome ! 
And curse upon curse light on Dunstan ; the deep 

pit of hell be his home. 
May Saint Ouen lie with him in torment ; Saint 

Swithun be doomed to despair ; 
And the rest who are snugly enshrined here be torn 

by the fiends of the air. 
For they sleep, and the glory of Conrad is past in 

a moment of time : 
They sleep, and the enemy cometh and despoileth 

the altar sublime. 



46 CATHEDRAL VERSE 

<'And a curse upon God in His heaven, who 

suiFers such evils to be ; 
And curses, too, on His Son, who refuseth our 

anguish to see ; 
And a curse on the Holy Spirit, that to save Hfts 

never an arm ; 
And a thrice bitter curse upon Mary, who will not 

defend from such harm 
The temple that Conrad hath builded in honour of 

Jesus, her Son ; 
And curses, too, on the angels ; away with them, 

every one! 
For the glory of Conrad is passing ; our God is as 

stubble or stone ; 
Let us turn from His worship forever, and bow us 

to Satan alone!" 

And now through the open choir roof a wind from 

the seaward there drave 
That lashed the flames into fury and swept them 

forth to the nave ; 



CATHEDRAL VERSE 47 

And the people fled before them as chaffs when 

a whirlwind is blown. 
Or as leaves in the front of a tempest hurried on 

betwixt high cliffs of stone. 
And hushed was the voice of blaspheming while 

high rose the roar of the flames 
Where the people had stood in their madness 

reviling the thrice holy names. 

When the fearsome night past and the morning 

shone down on our convent once more, 
**Ichabod," murmured our prior, *'the glory of 

Conrad is o'er ; 
He smiteth, and we are sore humbled ; He 

scourgeth our pride with His fire ; 
He sendeth His wrath out amongst us and abaseth 

our glorious choir. 
O, who can fathom His purpose, or who can read 

straightvs^ay His plan ? 
The Lord's w^ays are never as our ways, and 

foolish before Him is man ! ' ' 



In the year 1174, the choir of Canterbury Cathedral was destroyed 
by fire, and according to Gervasc, the monkish chronicler of these 
events, and himself a witness of what he describes, " The people were 
astonished that the Almighty should suffer such things, and maddened 
with excess of grief and perplexity, they tore their hair, and beat the 
walls and pavement of the church with their hands and heads, 
blaspheming the Lord and His iaints, the patrons of His church." 



MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 




A WITHERED ROSE 

These brown, curled leaves were once a rose 

All fair and fresh, and sweet as fair. 
Now summer's past, and winter snows 

Have buried Hope slain by Despair ! 

INEVITABLE 

The fairest rose that blooms hides yet a thorn ; 

The dearest friend shall one day bring you grief; 
In August twilight is the winter born. 

And waving wheat precedes the falling leaf. 

BLACK ROCK, NANTASKET 

A huge black sea-shape left at turn of tide. 

It drags, afar from shore, its low gaunt length. 

In dateless aeons in lone waters wide 

Was this some slimy saurian' s league-long strength? 



MISCELLANE US VERSE 

DECEMBER'S WOOING 
I. 

DECEMBER TO MAY 

Though I look old, love, 
I'm young and bold, love. 
When I see you. 

Fain would I ask, love. 
From you some task, love. 
To prove this true. 

That done, I'd take, love. 
In payment's sake, love. 
This maid I woo. 

II. 

MAY TO DECEMBER 

Would you, indeed, sir ? 
Pray take good heed, sir. 
To what I say. 

This my behest, sir : 

Cease to protest, sir. 

Your love today. 

Ne'er will I wed, sir. 
Where youth is sped, sir. 
So go your way ! 



52 MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 

REALITY 

Of Love the minstrel sang, and drew 

An easy finger o'er the strings, 

Then laughed and sang of other things, — 
Of grass and flowers and azure blue. 

Of Love the poet wrote, and soft 

And sweet the liquid measures flowed. 
Then gave his moments to an ode. 

And crooks and shepherds mentioned oft. 

One day the singer met with Love, 
And mighty music shook his strings. 
While dreams and light imaginings 

His new-roused spirit soared above. 

Love met the poet on his way. 
And kindled all his soul to fire. 
Filled all his measures with desire. 

And left no room for fancies gay. 

The minstrel sang to Love one song. 
And died for joy, yet lives in this. 
The poet, touched by Love's warm kiss. 

With echoes fills the ages long. 



MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 53 J 



DEAR HEART, BELIEVE 

Dear heart, believe I think of you 
When evening grey shuts out the blue ; 

In the slow hours of middle night. 

And when the lances of the hght 
First thrust the mists of darkness through. 

Nought can the days of absence do. 
When faith is strong and hearts are true. 

To blur with change affection's might. 

Dear heart, believe. 

If sullen death between us drew 

The veil that bars from earthly view 

The much loved face, the clearer sight 
Would still discern in death's despite. 

Beyond the veil can love pursue. 

Dear heart, believe. 



54 MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 

CAMBRIDGE 

Read at the Annual Meeting of the Boston Authors Club, 
January 30, 1905 

Dear city, round whose marshy rim the Charles 
Passes his steel-blue sickle in slow glee. 
And, circling ever, slips at last through snarls 
Of piers and bridges to the expectant sea. 

To thee is turned the **soft Venetian side" 
Of Boston. On thy myriad roofs the slopes 
Of Arlington look down ; between, a tide 
Scholastic ebbs and flows, sun-smit with hopes. 

Needs must they love thee who may call thee home. 
Whose centuried past their grateful reverence claims ; 
Thy sister city of the golden dome 
Points to no fairer scroll of noble names. 

Here roamed '*the Scholar Gypsy " long ago ; 
Here gently ruled our ** New World Philhellene ; " 
Here came the wanderer from the Pays de Vaud ; 
And here New England's Sibyl passed between 

The gates of birth. Here, where the lilacs hedge 
The winding road, the Gentle Singer told 
The Legend Golden ; and the murmuring sedge 
Of his loved Charles still with his name makes bold. 



MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 55 

Here, where the Elmwood thickets lift their pyres 
Of green, a later summons came, and he. 
Our best and noblest, whose each word inspires. 
Slipped from life's moorings on a shoreless sea. 

Ah me! the men that were and are not now. 
The seasons come and pass and bear away- 
One after other, as from autumn bough 
Is swept at whiles the fruitage of its May. 

O City of the Scholar! Wider spread 
Each year thy green elm shades, but ever keep 
In quick remembrance these thy children, sped 
To some far country through strange fields of sleep. 



56 MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 

NABOTH 

Great honour hath Boston, the city, won of late in 

a glorious fray 
With a handful of Portuguese fishers on that island 

just down in the bay. 
The fishers were poor and defenceless, the city was 

wealthy and strong. 
Hath it not been ever from old time that the poor to 

the spoiler belong ? 

It is twice twenty years since their fathers in the lap 

of a favouring breeze 
Put out from the far Western Islands and hitherward 

sailed over seas. 
The islands of summer to rearward sank slowly from 

sight in the wave. 
As they spread out their sails to the sunshine and 

swift through the water they drave. 
And they came, after many days' sailing, to a sea- 
fronting, sand-girted town, 
With a fringe of white sand dunes to northward and 

southward the fishing smacks brown, 
That lies at the end of a sea-daring, sea-cleaving 

spear of the land. 
And after long tossing on billows it was good in 

that fair town to stand. 



MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 57 

And some of them said, "We will dwell here, nor 

seek otherwhere for a home," 
But the rest were not of this liking, and once again 

sped o'er the foam 
Till they came to the harbour of Boston, and 

arrived there in sight of the town. 
They brought their staunch vessel to anchor in the 

lee of a yellow cliff's frown. 
A long, narrow isle was before them, and on it 

they landed that day. 
And built them rude huts by the sea beach, where 

the women and children might stay. 

And the busy years past and they prospered, these 

fishers from over the main. 
Till the elder men died and were buried, and over 

their labour and pain. 
But their children remained on Long Island, and 

followed a sea-faring life. 
As their fathers before them, in peace, with never 

the murmurs of strife. 
Till Boston, the city, grew jealous, like Ahab, the 

the ruler, of old. 
When he longed for the vineyard of Naboth, which 

he from his gates could behold. 
No vineyard was this on Long Island, but a few 

scanty acres of beach. 



58 MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 

Yet even there did the city her covetous fingers 

outreach. 
Though the fishermen begged for their homesteads, 

the strong city answered them **Nay," 
For she wanted, in spite of her riches, those few 

acres just down in the bay. 
So she gathered together her servants and sent them 

to Long Island strand. 
And they tore down the fisher-folk hom.es and 

strewed the wreck over the land. 
While the Portuguese women bewailed them, but 

their husbands stood sullen aside 
And wondered that God in the heavens could the 

wrongs of His servants abide. 
Thus the work of destruction went onward, while a 

cloud of dust covered the place 
Where the men from the distant Azores had 

nourished a peace-loving race. 
Till the grey of the long August twilight came down 

on that isle in the sea 
And covered the work of the spoilers, and the 

morrow was yet to be. 
Then the masterful foemen of Boston shame-facedly 

hurried away, 
While the curses of those they had plundered rang 

after them over the bay 



MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 59 

As they ring in the ears of Almighty who bringeth 

the strongest to shame. 
Who heedeth the griefs of the humble and divideth 

the praise from the blame. 
But His ways are still hid in the future and the city 

is great in her pride. 
And the men in her fair council chambers the 

Portuguese fishers deride ; 
And still in the streets of the city the deed of those 

foemen they praise. 
Who drave from Long Island the fishers on those 

sunshiny midsummer days. 

Thus honour abundant did Boston achieve in a 

glorious fray 
With a handful of Portuguese fishers on that island 

just down in the bay. 
And so long as the church-bells of Boston ring out 

from her myriad towers. 
So long will the praises be chanted of these valorous 

foemen of ours 
Who divided in sunder the roof-trees that sheltered 

a peace-loving folk. 
Who shattered in fragments their hearth-stones and 

quenched forever their smoke. 

1887 



60 MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 

ON TRURO MOORS 

O friend of mine, so dear to me. 

Forget not yet those summer hours 
On Truro moors beside the sea. 

O'er rolling downs we roamed in glee 

To where the tall white lighthouse towers, 
O friend of mine, so dear to me. 

On those high cliffs 1 sat with thee. 

When clinging sea-fog spilt slow showers. 
On Truro moors beside the sea. 

Fair hopes we had for days to be. 

We said high purpose should be ours, 
O friend of mine, so dear to me. 

In sun or cloud we paced that lea 

Elate with all that friendship dowers. 
On Truro moors beside the sea. 

Ah ! far-off week from care so free 

(Time from its span no charm deflowers, 
O friend of mine, so dear to me) 

On Truro moors beside the sea. 



MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 61 

AT PARTING 

With eyes in which there gleamed a tear. 

And voice whose syllables were broken. 

She stood aghast in sudden fear. 

With eyes in which there gleamed a tear. 

She gazed at him who loved her dear. 

And left the farewell half unspoken. 

With eyes in which there gleamed a tear. 

And voice whose syllables were broken. 

For soon would seas between them roll. 
And half the world its distance sever. 

How should content possess her soul 

When seas would soon between them roll ? 

Then round her waist his strong arm stole — 

**Dear heart," he said, **my love dies never. 

Though seas will soon between us roll 

And half the world its distance sever." 



62 MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 

UT QUID DOMINE 

PSALM X. 

Why standest Thou from us afar, 
O Lord ? Why hidest Thy face ? 

In need and sore trouble we are. 

Why standest Thou from us afar. 

When the wicked the poor doth debar 
From his right, and debase ? 

Why standest Thou from us afar, 
O Lord ? Why hidest Thy face ? 

The wicked hath said in his heart 
That his glory shall never be less. 

*< With defeat I shall never have part," 

The wicked hath said in his heart ; 

So the poor he maketh to smart. 
And seeketh his goods to possess. 

The wicked hath said in his heart 
That his glory shall never be less. 

** For God hath forgotten," he cries ; 

** The Lord hath forgotten the poor! " 
With his tongue he uttereth lies : 
**For God hath forgotten," he cries. 



MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 63 

He lieth in wait in disguise 

That his deeds may be secret and sure. 
** For God hath forgotten," he cries ; 

** The Lord hath forgotten the poor! " 

Most surely, O Lord, hast Thou known ; 

For Thou seest all sorrow and wrong ; 
The friendless Thou helpest alone. 
Most surely, O Lord, hast Thou known 
That the wicked so mighty are grown ; 

And to Thee we lift up our song. 
Most surely, O Lord, hast Thou known ; 

For Thou seest all sorrow and wrong. 

O Lord, Thou hast heard our desire, — 
Incline Thou Thine ear to our prayer : 

Let the wicked no longer conspire. 

O Lord, Thou hast heard our desire, — 

Lift us up from the clay and the mire. 
And our hearts in Thy mercy prepare. 

O Lord, Thou hast heard our desire, — 
Incline Thou Thine ear to our prayer. 



64 MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 

O FRIEND ESTRANGED 

O friend estranged, whose love, now cold. 
Once warmed my heart with bliss untold. 

How near we were, now sundered far! 

What fate perverse did forge the bar 
That holds apart the friends of old ? 

Do you forget how o'er us rolled 
The tides of feeling uncontrolled. 

Before your love knew wound or scar, 

O friend estranged ? 

When first your hand-clasp loosed its hold. 
And dark mistrust, grown over-bold. 

Crept in, your faith to blur and mar. 

Did not your spirit feel the jar 
Preluding friendship's death-knell knolled, 

O friend estranged ? 



MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 65 

THE ARTIST'S LAST PICTURE 

Upon the painter's easel stands 
The latest picture from his hands. 
The canvas shows a sunset glow- 
Reflected in the lake below. 
While mountains farther from the sight 
Have caught the day's departing light. 
And autumn's tints upon the leaves 
Are paled by these the sunset weaves. 

Oh, nevermore that rosy sky 
Will darken as the moments fly ; 
Or colour fade from ofi^ the lake. 
Or mount a duller tint will take. 
The glories of the lingering day 
Are on that canvas fixed for aye! 

The hand that laid those colours fair. 
The brain that schemed to set them there. 
Have no more work, meseems, to do. 
For both are still ; the palette, too. 
Hangs idly from its peg ; and o'er 
The box of pigments on the floor 
The spider throws her web. The sun 
That glittered while the work was done. 
Has set in night for him who made 
This canvas fair with light and shade ; 



66 MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 

For ere these glowing hues were dry- 
He turned him from his task to die. 

Ah ! not in night his day declined ; 
Not thus the spirit saith. The mind 
That thought, the brain that willed. 
Are with diviner cunning skilled. 
And somewhere out of earthly sight 
The artist is, and morning light 
Illumes his canvas : through his soul 
The harmonies of heaven roll. 
And mortal sunsets to him seem 
But as some faintly-outlined dream 
Recalled in brightest mid-day gleam. 



MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 67 

-IN PEACE AND QUIETNESS" 

A silver tide. 

The waters glide. 
And round the feet of mountains slide. 

O'er whose high steep 

The moonbeams peep. 
And on through winding valleys keep. 

'Mid craggy walls. 

Where alway calls 
The voice of many waterfalls, 

A castle stands. 

Whence robber bands 
Once ravaged all the neighbour lands. 

Their fierce alarms. 

Their clang of arms. 
Rang o'er the peasants' wasted farms ; 

And city streets 

Heard their hoof beats. 
Beheld the keeping of their leets. 



68 MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 

Their riot fills 

No more the hills. 
And stirs a myriad mortal ills. 

Their day is done. 

Their course long run. 
And memory fain their names would shun. 

Along these slopes 

With nature copes 
The peasant, scattering seed in hopes. 

The fig and vine 

Their boughs entwine ; 
The valleys sing with corn and wine. 

In summer days 

A golden haze 
Hides mount and river in its maze ; 

In summer eves 

The moonlight weaves 
A shimmering splendour of the leaves. 

Or silver lights. 

On autumn nights. 
It scatters where no foe affrights ; 

While softly there 

The call of prayer 
Floats forth upon the peaceful air. 



MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 69 

IN THE LIBRARY AT ELMWOOD 

These are the friends whom he loved : these books 

that reveal on their pages 
Pencilled marks of approval, as one claps a friend 

on the shoulder 
Who has uttered a witty or wise thing. These are 

the friends he loved best. 
And he knew them as one knows a brother. Now 

they look down from their places. 
At evening and morning and mid-day, and mourn 

his untimely departure. 
Many a time on their leaves has his white hand 

lovingly rested ; 
Many a time has he gone to these friends for their 

generous counsel ; 
Often and often have they and the poet made 

merry together. 



70 MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 

Now the sweet converse has past, and the glow ot 

the fire on the hearthstone 
Flashes across the dark faces that leaned from the 

shelves to speak to him 
In accents that he understood whatever the tongue 

that was spoken ; 
Gleams on the papers that lie on the stand where 

he carelessly tossed them ; 
Glitters on ceiling and walls but no longer discovers 

the presence. 
Gracious and courteous ever, that once made the 

scholar's apartment 
Seem like the throne of a king when he sat there by 

such friends surrounded. 

1891 



MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 71 

HULL 

Low leagues of coast dunes bending to the west 
Are tremulous with waving beach grass green. 
Or all aglare with shifting sands that, seen 

At midday, show their arid whiteness best. 

At farthest end start up, as if to breast 

The ocean's might, low rounded hills that lean 
Their turfed slopes to the sun, and in between 

These swelling downs a road winds, all unguessed 

Till near, and fringed with homely farmsteads hke 
Some country lane with honest country bloom. 
The murmurs of the sea seem faint and far 

Though close beside. All summer sounds that strike 
The ear bring peace. All winds waft blent 

perfume 
Of sea and meadow through the village quaint. 



72 MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 

WHICH 

O which were best, and who would dare to choose 
Between the friend who holds you as his life. 
Counting all effort useless if his strife 

Win from you no fond word — content to lose 

All else but you — or him you know no ruse 
Of time can part your soul from, and no knife 
Of fate dissever, though all tongues were rife 

With tales of slander his fair fame to bruise ? 

O which were best ? To give or to receive ? 
To love, or to be loved ? To take alway. 
Or stand with gifts of love before the gate 

Of one beloved? Oh! curious heart, believe 

All love wins love, and choice were foolish play 
In this. The twain are one, or soon or late. 



MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 73 

WHAT CAN DREAR DECEMBER SAY? 

What can drear December say 

That should make our souls rejoice ? 
Fields are white and skies are grey ; 

Winter speaks with sternest voice. 
Summer's gone far over seas ; 

Scent and sweetness all are fled ; 
Every southward sweeping breeze 

Wails a dirge for summer dead. 
Hearts are numb with nameless pain. 

For the year is near its death : 
**Joy once past comes not again," 

To itself the sad soul saith. 
This is what December says. 

Heard through snows and flying sleet : 
** Even in my shortening days 

Still abide presagings sweet 
Of the pleasant time to be. 

In my woods the hazel swells ; 
Under snows who looks may see 

Epigsea's rose tinged bells. 
All the blasts in fury reehng 

Cannot quench my Christmas light. 
Heart, look up! One came with healing 

On a dark December night." 



74 MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 

HORATIO NELSON POWERS 



1826-1890 \ 



Death hath no power o'er such as he ; 
The fulness of the life to be 
Shone round him in the life he spent 
Within this mortal prison pent. 
Texts might we gather from his looks 
Such as men read in holy books. 
And in his speech could hear at will 
The Master's gracious accents still. 



A MEMORY AT CHRISTMASTJDE 

Again the snows, the Christmas carols sweet ; 

Again the days so full of Christmas cheer. 

Ah me ! the friend who spoke with me last year. 
And warmed my very heart with love's glad heat 
Lies now where fall the winter snow and sleet. 

And I, who held him past all others dear 

And counted every hour without him drear. 
No more shall list the coming of his feet. 



1 

i 

i 

MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 75 i 

LOVE IS SO SWEET \ 

Love is so sweet, but he seldom stays long : ; 

(Roses of June are go fie ere July.^ \ 

Love is so sweet, but brief ia his song : \ 

(Roses of June o?i the first wifids fiy.^ * 

Love is so sweet, but he leaves a pain : ' 

(Roses of June have a thorn ^ neath them all.) \ 

Love is so sweet, but he comes not again : ; 

( Roses of Juue must wither and fall. ) ' 

Love was so sweet, but his day is past : • 

(Roses lie deep ^neath December snows. ) | 

Love was so sweet, but he fled so fast ; ! 

( Roses are done when the summer-time goes. ) ^ 



76 MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 

BEFORE THE GATE OF STORMS 

Before the gate of storms two dim shapes met : 
( Cold are the winds when December files ;') 

The one was robed in weeds of sad regret. 
But saw the shining of the other's eyes. 

Then he who wore the seal of sorrows great : 
( Dark are the nights when December goes ; ) 

** Alas ! who art thou, that with face elate 
Peerest so eagerly through whirling snows ? ' ' 

Clear rang the other's answer in his ear : 

{Crisp are the snows when December speeds ;^ 

** I am the spirit of the coming year ; 

My name is Hope, and always hope succeeds." 

Slow turned the sad one from before the gate : 
( Shadows are black when December parts ; ) 

** O eager one, within the future wait 

Thy coming, pain and woe and broken hearts. 

I am the spirit of the going year ; 

{Sad are the hours when December files ;') 
My name is Loss, and me all men do fear. 

For in my bosom twelve months' anguish lies ! ' * 



MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 77 

AT BAY 

This the end, then, of striving ; this is what comes 

of it all ; 
Darkness and foes just behind one ; before, an 

impassable wall. 
What does it matter how staunchly one may have 

. battled for truth. 
When with his weapons all broken he sits by the 

grave of his youth ? 
What did it profit in past years that one did the best 

that one knew. 
When in the gloom of the present, virtue herself 

seems untrue ? 
Why should one fight any longer when nothing 

remains but defeat ? 
Surely such labour were useless, and idle the stirring 

of feet. 

Ah ! but the soul that is faithful knows it is well 

to have fought ; 
Knows it is good to have acted, whatever the doing 

has brought. 
This is the crown of the conflict, this the reward 

of all strife, — 
Faith in one's self and one's motives, no matter how 

darkened the life. 



78 MISCELLANEOUS f^ERSE 

Flesh may be bruised and defeated, but spirit is 

never disgraced ; 
Spirit is always triumphant, whatever sharp pain it 

it has faced. 

Here, at the end of my conflict, 1 counsel not yet 

with dispair. 
Though to all seeming my struggles are his who but 

beateth the air. 
Darkness and foes are about me, yet I stand with 

my back to the wall. 
Facing whatever Fate sends me, and facing Fate 

thus I shall fall ! 



MISCELLANEOUS VERSE 79 

A LAGGARD SPRING 

The winter tarried and the spring was late. 

And still from wild waste lands to northward blew 

The gale that stiffened nightly all the brooks 

Which fed the rivers flowing past the cliffs 

Of lonely cloud-swept mountains to the sea ; 

And all the people wearied of the cold. 

And all the fields were crying for the sun. 

But when the mid-March weeks were past there 

came 
A wind from southern lands that vanquished quite 
The hosts of winter. All its snows rushed down 
In stormful spates, to spread themselves upon 
The level meads that lay beside the streams 
That in the summer shrank to silver threads 
Or lost themselves amid the green, but now 
Were one wide water, for the spring had come! 



POST- LAUREATE IDYLLS 



(SECOND SERIES) 




THE PLEADING OF DAGONET 



ARGUMENT 

The King of Spades^ 

He kiss''d the maidsy 
Which vex'd the ^e en full sore. 

The Q^een of Spades^ 

She heat those maids. 
And turnd them out of door. 

The Knave of Spades 

Grieved for those jades, 
And did for them implore. 

The Queen so gent. 

She di3 relent. 
And vow'd she'd ne'er strike more. 

The time had come when slowly-dying Rome, 
Feeling the death-chill creeping near her heart, 
Call'd all the legions home from far-ofF lands 
That haply they might save the life of her 
Who once was nam'd the mistress of the world. 
So they, home summon' d, swarm' d from over seas. 
Climb' d Alps or cross' d the drifting sands that 

stretch' d 
Between them and the much-lov'd mother land. 
And left their hard-won conquests to their fate, 
An easy prey to lustful heathen hosts. 
And bitter was the lot of Britain's isle. 



84 POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 

Deserted by the legions seeking Rome, 
Till Arthur came and drave the heathen back 
That swept from out the North, and made secure 
A realm of peace and reign' d there as its king. 

But ere such happy ending had been reach' d. 
The land was torn with battle, and the streams 
Ran blood, and all the fertile fields were waste, 
For none were had to till, and all the isle 
Seem'd likelier to be the home of beasts 
Than quiet kingdom of a peaceful king. 
And once eleven fierce and wolfish kings 
'Gainst Arthur join'd their strengths and prest 

him sore 
And gave his armed men no rest by night 
Or day, and truly, as it seem'd, the light 
Of Christ had been extinguish' d in the isle. 
Had Arthur sent not out a cry for help 
That rang across the straits and echo found 
In wave-beat Brittany and and distant Gaul. 
King Ban of Ben wick — counted bravest knight 
In all the world, had not his brother king 
And brother in the flesh, Bors, King of Gaul, 
Been reckon'd equal in men's sight — first heard 
The cry, and sent a messenger to Bors 
To bid him arm his hosts and speed with him 
To aid the king of Britain in his need. 



POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 85 

• 
So these twain. Ban of Benwick, Bors of Gaul, 
Past o'er the straits and sprang to Arthur's help. 
And all the might of the eleven kings 
Was broken, and themselves were slain, and none 
Were left who own'd not Arthur for their lord. 

Now when the powers of the eleven kings 

Were scatter' d, and the noise of battle ceas'd 

King Ban of Benwick, with his brother Bors, 

Laden with Arthur's many grateful gifts. 

Again past over straits each to his realm. 

A wifeless palace was the home of Bors, 

But Ban was wedded unto Margaret, 

A peasant's daughter who her first estate 

Had long ere this forgot, and fair was she 

As many women are, yet not so fair 

But there were those with whom her face compar'd 

As canker in the hedge to garden rose. 

Or moonlight unto dazzling ray of sun ; 

And this she knew, and rag'd for jealousy 

Within when women fairer than herself 

Caught even a passing glance from Ban, her lord. 

Now when King Ban return' d from Britain's isle. 
His dark face darker yet from sun and wind 
Than when he left his realm at Arthur's need. 
It chanc'd that in the tale of those who serv'd 



86 POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 

Within the palace were two lately come, • 

Sisters in blood, in age the same, and fair ; 

To look upon as sunlight on gold waves 

Of crinkling wheat. Not yet Queen Margaret | 

Was 'ware that they were of her retinue, 'j 

And therefore was it that Ban saw them first. i 

The time was summer, and a morn of June j 

Made music in the veins, the scent of flowers i 

Past down the breeze ; the birds for very joy j 

Stopt in their songs to circle in mid air. 

Began once more and once more broke the strain i 

For gladness* sake, so full their happy hearts. 

While joy and summer reign' d o'er all the world. i 

It was the morning of a royal hunt. 

And Ban the King, array 'd as for the chase, \ 

Was passing hastily to palace hall, | 

To join his knights and squires who stay' d him there. 

When sudden music checkt his kingly haste. 

And leaning from a window that o'erlookt \ 

The palace court, he saw the sisters twain \ 

At work and singing, like the birds, for joy. j 

No man but might not at that sight have felt I 

His heart beat quicker, were he old or young ; 

And all forgetting those his waiting knights, ; 

Ban, being human, stay'd to gaze and list. ] 

It was a simple song they sang, of joy \ 

And dole, and ever as one sister paus'd, I 



POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 87 

The other caught the music's flying thread 

And answer' d her, and these the words they sang : — 

"In life and love, if love in life be ours. 
Smiling and weeping ne'er were equal powers ; 
Yet smiles thro' tears are sweetest smiles of all. 

** It is the little tear that smiles confute. 
That soon or late makes lovers' voices mute. 
Yet ever gathering surely saddens all. 

** It is the little tear no smiles refute. 
Or fleeting smiles of joy all destitute. 

That in the heart's life surely saddens all. 

** Love is not worth your weeping : let it go. 
Ah, is it ? Tell me, dearest, is it so ? 
Dear love is richest when 'tis all in all." 

Sweet were the voices of the sisters fair. 
And he who listen' d might not say which voice 
Had most of music in it, more than might 
One hark'ning to two nightingales that sing 
Out of their full hearts in a moonlit night. 
All blossom-scented, of the waning May. 
So, with the music ringing in his ears. 
King Ban past down the stairway to the court ; 
But ere he came within the sisters' sight. 
One of the twain had taken up the song 



88 POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 

Again, and intermingling with the words. 
And like a buttress to some lofty wall. 
There ran along beside the singer's notes 
Her sister's murmurous monotones of" song, 

** My life, once mine, now thine, is surelier mine. 
For love, if love be thine, such love were mine. 
And death, if death be thine, that death were mine. 
Dear love is richest when 'tis all in all." 

The song was ended and the maids arose. 
And rising turn'd, and turning saw the King. 
Then on the cheek of either flusht the white 
To red that slowly pal'd again to white. 
And flee they might not, rooted there by fear. 
Then he, who saw their fear and sought to calm. 
Said gently : — 

** Maids, I pray you, be of cheer. 
Such songs as yours are sweet unto mine ears. 
And therefore make I payment in such wise 
As best beseems a king when maids are fair." 
So saying. Ban of Ben wick stoopt and kiss'd 
The rounded cheeks that seem'd for kisses made. 
So like the peach-bloom in their tenderness. 
Then lightly turn'd away to join his knights. 
His lips still playing with the song's refrain, 
** Dear love is richest when 'tis all in all." 



POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 89 

Scarce had the echo of his footsteps died. 
And still the wonder linger' d in the eyes 
Of these King Ban had kiss'd, when Margaret, 
The Queen, swept down upon the sisters twain ; 
For she from out her bower had seen the King 
Salute the maids, and like an angry sea 
Her rising tide of temper swell' d and surg'd. 
To break in fury on the heads of these. 
No word spake Margaret, but with a hand 
Made hard by anger smote the maids on arm 
And shoulder, and full harshly drave them forth 
From palace doors, and all in dole they went. 

Now in the palace of King Ban was there 

A bitter-tongued yet not unkindly dwarf. 

Dark-haired and swart of hue, one Dagonet, 

Who oft at royal banquets flasht his wit 

Like nimble lightnings thro' the heavy clouds 

Of dullness that opprest the wine-soakt brains 

And chase-worn limbs of stalwart squires and knights. 

And he returning from some trifling quest 

Beheld the weeping damsels driven forth. 

And in a moment's space had guess' d the cause. 

While all his heart was mov'd and pitiful. 

But these on whom the anger of the Queen 

Had fallen heavily beheld him not 

Thro' mists of tears till he full kindly spoke 



90 PGST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 

And question' d of their grief, and so drew forth 
In fragments, marr'd with many sobs and tears. 
Their woful tale. This heard. Sir Dagonet, 
Eying them tenderly as mothers eye 
A child heart-broken for some pleasure lost. 
Shook merrily his cap and bells, and made 
Some jest that brought the laughter to their lips, 
And gave thereafter counsel they should bide 
Nigh to the palace till the queen had ruth. 
Then Dagonet made haste and sought and found 
The Queen, and shaking gleefully his bells 
Broke into sudden laughter. Then the Queen : 
'* Why laugh you now. Sir Fool ? " 

And quickly came 
The answer back, ** J laugh, good mistress fool. 
To think a queen should be a woman too." 
Then Margaret, starting quick aside as one 
Who finds a stinging insect on his arm 
And would be freed from it, said scornfully, 
<* Why call me *fool' ? I am no kin of thine." 
*' Thou art my sister fool," quoth Dagonet, 
** For Queens are gracious unto all that live, 
But baser women know no note but hale 
To sound in presence of their waiting maids 
Who win a fleeting favour from> their lord. 
And therefore do I call thee sister fool. 
And therefore is it that I laugh so loud." 



POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 91 \ 



When Dagonet had ceas'd, a silence came 

Upon the jester and the jealous Queen, 

And either fear'd to speak : the one for shame 

That she, a Queen, had so her state forgot 

And beaten cruelly two harmless maids 

For no fault greater than a simple song. 

The other doubtful if his words were wise. 

But ere the shadow of the dial mov'd 

A hair's-breadth onward toward the close of day. 

The dwarf found voice again andbegg'dthe Queen 

To pity those her wrath had driven forth ; 

And mov'd by pleadings of the sharp tongued dwarf. 

Or by repentant working of her soul. 

The Queen melted to pity and the maids 

Forgave, and in the rush of feeling vow'd 

Her hand should ne'er strike more. Thus Dagonet 

O'ercame the wrath of Margaret and saw 

The maids restor'd, and in the next year went 

As sign of friendly bonds between the kings 

To dwell at Arthur's court in Camelot. 



92 POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 

THE VISION OF SIR LIONEL 

ARGUMENT 

" There were three sisters in a hall. 

There came a knight among them them all ; 

' Good-morrow,, aunt,^ to the one, 

' Good-morrow, aunt^ to the other, 

^ Good-morrow , gentlewoman^ to the third. 

' If you were my aunt 

As the other two be, 
I would say good-morrow 

Then, aunts all three.'' " 

Sir Launcelot had fled the sight of men. 

And past in dolour to a mournful wood 

Where seldom rang the voice of knights from chase 

Returning, but instead the dismal cry 

Of owl in deepest shadows hid, or beast 

That prey'd upon his brother beast, like man 

On man, and there, a hermit, Hved the space 

Of three long years, and there, a hermit, died. 

Now at this time Sir Ector and Sir Bors, 

With others of the broken Table Round, 

Coming to crave a blessing at his hands. 

Found when they gain'd the cave beneath the rocks 

That fring'd the gloomy base of a low hill. 

That he, the holy man they sought, had died 

An hour before, and Hke a summer storm 

Their grief, and like a torrent flow'd their tears. 



POST-LAUREATE IDTLLS 9g 

Then he. Sir Ector, standing at the feet 

Of Launcelot, and lifting up a voice 

That shook with anguish, cried aloud, ** Thou wert, 

Sir Launcelot, head of all the Christian knights ! " 

And hiding in his scarf a face all marr'd 

With weeping, wept again. 

There came a hush 
Upon them, broken not until Sir Bors 
DeGanis, nephew of the dead, cried out : — 
**Sir Launcelot, there thou liest, and I dare 
To say that thou wert never matcht of none 
Among all earthly knighrs, and that thou wert 
The courtliest knight that ever bare a shield. 
And to thy lover truest friend of all 
That ever rode an horse, and that thou wert 
The truest lover of a sinful man 
That ever woman loved, and tenderest man 
Wert thou that ever struck with sword, and thou 
The goodliest person among press of knights. 
And thou the gentlest and the meekest man 
That ever among ladies ate in hall. 
And to thy mortal foe the sternest knight 
That ever put spear in the rest." 

Then rose 
A sharp and bitter cry from those who stood 



f)4 POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 

Beside, and stooping down they rais'd the dead 
And reverently bare hiin forth, the flower 
Of knighthood, dead before his time. 

And one. 
His brother Lionel, a knight who seem'd 
In the mid-strength and flourish of his youth, 
Walk'd last of all with downdropt eyes until 
They reach' d the castle of the Joyous Guard, 
There he abode till two days after mass 
Was sung above Sir Launcelot, and the sound 
Of rolling music surg'd along the aisles 
Of the small chapel at the Joyous Guard, 
And died in mournful murmurs like the v/ind 
In clefts and hollows of some crag above 
A heaving stormful sea. But when the knights. 
Sir Ector and Sir Bors and all the rest. 
Had gone their ways and left Sir Launcelot tomb'd 
At altar-foot, the young Sir Lionel 
Departed by another way from these. 
And past into a wide waste land that lay 
On both sides of a sullen stream that swept 
Round many a loop of fenland to the sea. 
Here in a shatter' d castle of his own 
That stood half-islanded by the dark stream. 
He past a lonely autumn-tide, nor knew 
Nor car'd what hapt amid the world of men ; 
For ever was he thinking of the dead 



PGST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 95 

Sir Launcelot, and saying to himself, 

*« Would I had died if so be he had liv'd : 

Full gladly had I given my life for his." 

And had his brother knights beheld him then, 

They might have deem'd the death he crav'd was 

near ; 
For like to one whose days have shrunk to hours 
He sat in hall unheeding, while the v/ind 
Tore at the casement and was loud without. 

So ran the autumn to its end. Each night 
The little marshy pools v/ere iilm.'d with ice. 
Rime whiten' d the tall reeds that grew beside. 
And winter came, and still Sir Lionel 
Abode in gloom ; but on a day in spring 
Nigh to Our Lady's feast, a sudden glow 
O'erspread the land and brake from out the earth 
In flame of crocus and of violet. 
And on that day Sir Lionel awoke. 
And on that day bethought him of the world. 
And felt such stirrings of his youthful blood 
As if the chase or tourney beckoned him. 
Fill'd vvath the rush of old impetuous 
Desires, Sir Lionel was moved to leap 
At once to horse and lightly ride away. 
But limbs disus'd from action held him fast. 
At v/hich he chaf'd and murm.ur'd but endur'd 



96 POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 

Till all his wonted strength return' d and he 
Look'd like a copy of that Laimcelot 
Who in his younger days flasht thro' the lists 
And charg'd, in shock of tourney, past the eyes 
Of ladies and of kings at Camelot. 

The Easter-tide was past when on a morn 

In green mid-April, young Sir Lionel, 

To southward turning, rode from out that wild 

Waste country to a westward-gazing land 

That breath' d of coming summer. On the branch 

O'erhead the bud had swell'd to leaf, in hue 

Pale emerald shot with threads of gold. The birds 

Made riotous music in mid-air, and all 

The turf burn'd with the daffodil's sharp flame. 

Upon the brow of a low hill that cleft 

The plain a half-league distant, rose the walls 

Of a great castle from whose highest tower 

There flutter' d a white ensign cross' d with bars 

Of gold, that now and ever caught the sun 

And flasht against the blue of sky beyond. 

This when he saw, the knight spake to his squire, 

A man in years much past his own, ** I pray 

You stay till I return," and he made speech 

In answer, **Yea, my lord." Thereat the knight 

Put spurs to horse and rode to castle gate. 

That stood wide open and no man was near. 



POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 97 

Above the keystone one long since had carv'd. 

With intricate device of blazoning, 

A shield and legend on a streaming scroll. 

But all were dim with years, and none might tell 

The sculptor's meaning save that on the scroll 

**y////<?r " yet linger'd, as if one should say 

That love outlasted pride of place and name. 

Much pond' ring on this thing. Sir Lionel 

Rode slowly o'er the drawbridge 'neath the gate 

And past vv^ithin the courtyard. Nothing stirr'd 

To meet his coming, tho' his horse's hoofs 

Sent all the echoes flying back from wall 

To wall, and for a space Sir Lionel 

Sat silent on his horse and gaz'd upon 

The empty courtyard. On three sides rose up 

A high grey wall, doorless and windowless. 

But on the fourth an archway pierc'd the stone. 

In which a door swung lightly with each puff 

Of v/ind. This seeing, Lionel was mov'd 

To pass beyond. Dismounting from his horse. 

He lightly overran the steep stone steps. 

And pushing w^ith one hand the oaken door. 

Past in. Thereat the door clang' d to with sound 

Like thunder, nor would ope again. In awe. 

Yet nowise daunted, Lionel enter' d nov/ 

A hall hung round with 'broideries that mov'd 



98 POSr-LAUREATE IDYLLS 

In the light breeze that thro' the doorway past 

With him, and at the farther end there sat 

An ancient maiden clad in faded cloth 

Of yellow samite. Faded were the eyes 

That lookt on him, and faded too the hue 

That once had been sweet colour in the cheeks. 

And he, beholding, deem' d her more than twice 

His years, and, for she spake no word, bow'd low, 

And said with reverence as became a knight 

In presence of a dame of rank and years 

Like hers, * * Good-morrow, aunt. ' ' At this a smile. 

As wintry watery as the gleam that strikes 

Athwart a barren land at close o'i some 

November afternoon, lit up a while 

The sombre visage that was turn'd to him. 

And ere it past she pointed with a hand 

To which, uncompanied, a jewel clung ; 

And following with his eyes the hand, he saw 

An arch behind her, wherethro' Lionel past 

In silence, reverencing her mood, and came 

Into a hall ten paces longer than 

That other hung with 'broideries, but this 

With silken hangings, wonders of the loom. 

Upon a dais midway of the space. 

Beneath a canopy of crimson silk. 

Sat one who seem'd a sister unto her. 

The ancient maiden of the yellow robe. 



POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 99 

But yet twin lustrums younger, for her eyes 
Not wholly fail'd their charm, and on her gown 
Of samite crimson folded hands lay yet 
Unshrunken. Unto her Sir Lionel 
With utmost grace of courtesy stoopt low 
Until the plume upon his helmet swept 
The floor, and with a voice that seem'd all made 
Of courtesy, **I pray you, gentle aunt. 
Good-morrow !" 

At the words she rose from out 
Her chair beneath the crimson canopy. 
And lifting a white arm, wherefrom the folds 
Of samite crimson slipt in gleaming lines. 
With slender finger pointed to a door 
Half hid in a shadow, smiling as the sun 
Of middle summer smiles across a field 
Of rip'ning wheat. In silence Lionel 
Obey'd the motion of the finger point, 
Push'd ope the door which clos'd behind with sound 
That jarr'd the nerves of silence, leaving him 
Alone within a corridor that led. 
After long windings, to a lofty hall 
Lighted by three vast windows in which flam'd 
The story of the great Pendragonship 
In saffron, gules, and azure. On the walls 
Were dinted shields a many. From the roof 



100 POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS \ 

Droop' t faded banners of some mighty king. 

All this Sir Lionel saw not, or saw \ 

As one whose heart is elsewhere sees the shapes ' 

Of men and things about him, but of them \ 
Thinks naught ; for now his eyes were fixt on one \ 

Who mov'd to meet him in a samite robe ' 

Of palest azure, over which a vine _; 
Wrought all of pearls, as thickly sown as turt 

With trembling sparkles after April showers, I 

At random wander' d from the throat to hem. J 

Beholding stood Sir Lionel, like one \ 

Who after many years of darkness sees ■ 

For the first time. , Ne'er had he known a maid \ 

So beautiful, for on her cheek there lay \ 

The rose, and on her brow the lily. Hair \ 

Like ripples of pale sunshine made a light \ 

About her like a glory, and her eyes j 

Seem'd like twin stars. j 

Silent he stood such space 

As one might count an hundred, then upon \ 

One knee in reverence bending, spake aloud : — \ 

*' Good-morrow, maiden — aunt I may not say ; ; 
Sister I dare not — yet were you like these, 
I might good-morrow bid you, aunts all three. 

This can I not ; but if you be of earth, j 

As sure I almost deem that one so fair \ 



POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 101 

Was not of earthly mother born, I fain 
Would be your eager, faithful knight to serve 
You in such wise as you may deem me fit. *' 
Thereat the maid, extending a white hand, 
Sign'd him to rise ; when he, that moment seiz'd 
With rapture of wild love, caught at the hand 
And kiss'd it twice or thrice, but ere his lips 
Had left it came a darkness over him. 
And in the midst of that great darkness was 
A voice that sang, and sadly sweet the words. 
And when the song had end the darkness past. 
And he upon his horse once more, beside 
His squire, was gazing on that land that slop'd 
To westward ; but the castle no man saw 
Thenceforward, and Sir Lionel went his way. 



102 POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 

THE PLEASAUNCE OF MAID MARIAN 

ARGUMENT 

'■^ Mary, Mary, quite contrary, 

Hotv does your garden groiv ? 
Sil-ver bells and cockle shells 

And fair maids all in a roiv,'''' 

Isolt the White, the daughter of a king, 

Hoel of Brittany, the same who wed 

Sir Tristram of the Woods, who lov'd her not. 

Within a shadowy hall sat by herself. 

Upon an autumn midnight drencht with rain 

And loud with shrieking of the gale, and mus'd 

How her white hands had been too weak to hold 

Her lord. Sir Tristram, who had sworn to love 

But her, then lightly broken, for the man 

Was light, his promis'd word. He first had call'd 

Her by that name, Isolt of the White Hands, 

When those white hands had heal'd him of his hurt 

Got in some tourney held in Brittany, 

And she had lov'd him for the name, and thought, 

** Full surely is he mine as I am his ; '* 

And this had lasted but the waxing old 

Of the same moon that crescive saw them wed. 

Then he had left her taking slight farewell. 

And over seas had come no word from him 

Of bale or comfort, and a year was past. 



POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 103 

Now as she mus'd on love, and musing felt 
Aweary of her life because no love 
Was had for her, the tempest-driven rain 
Beat at the casement, and small puffs of wind 
Flutter' d the flame that burnt upon the hearth. 
And stirr'd the many-coloured tapestries 
That lin'd the wall ; and once a fiercer gust. 
It seem'd, drave ope the door, and with the wind 
And rain there came one trailing dripping wee is 
Of samite after. Then Isolt thereat 
Rais'd eyes amist with tears, and thro' these saw 
Her cousin, sharp of tongue, sharper of face. 
Of all men call'd Maid Marian the curst. 
And gave a doubtful welcome. Thereupon 
The sharp-fac'd damsel, clanging to the door, 
Laught shrilly, crying out the while : 

** Your guest. 
Good cousin, is not to your mind, meseems." 
Thereat Isolt, as stung to courtsey 
Perforce, would fain have call'd for lights, and food 
And all things needful, had not she, the maid. 
Shook off in haste constraining hands and cried : 
** I care not for your simple kindnesses. 
Cousin Isolt ; " then louder, ** I have news 
Of him you call your Tristram, so much yours 
Indeed as any knight may be the prize 



104 POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 

Of one among a score of maidens whom 
He loves and leaves." 

By this, Isolt the White, 
Trembling to hear what she for long had fear'd 
To hear, had murmur' d, ** False, my cousin, false," 
But that Maid Miriam shrill' d it once again : 
** Ay ! yours and hers, and any woman's else 
On whom his fancy lights," and crying out 
On all false lovers, fled into the dark 
That clos'd about her, and Isolt was left 
To such small comfort as her prayers might yield. 

But when the morrow brake upon a v^orld 
Washt clean with tempest, light' d by a sun 
That drave the mists before in streaming lines 
Of golden vapour, she, the white Isolt, 
Out of a tender heart was fain to doubt 
The word Maid Marian brought, had not the maid 
Stood once again before her crying, ** Come ! 
Sad cousin, and behold your lord." 

So they, 
The twain, took ship, past over seas, and came 
To where Tintagel with its crown of towers. 
Defies with frowning might of splinter' d crag 
The stormful tossing seas of Lyonnesse. 
There, favour' d by the tangl'd arms of trees 
That stretcht deep shadows on the landward side 



1 

POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 105 ^ 



Of the huge castle, went they by a path 
That led with many windings to the tower 
Of Queen Isolt of Britain, she men call'd 
The Fair. Within her bower she lay asleep 
Upon an azure-broider'd silken couch. 
And half her robe had slipt aside and show'd 
A silver skin glossy as satin, fair 
As none was fair before in all that land. 

At her Maid Marian pointed hissing, ** See ! 
The false queen whom false Tristram loves." 

Then she, 
Isolt of the White Hands beholding Queen 
Isolt the Fair, belov'd of Tristram, knew 
That never would he leave that woman there. 
That woman in the high tide of her youth. 
That woman with the glory in her hair. 
For her, his faded wife of Brittany, 
For her, his pale Isolt of the White Hands, 
And bitter was this knowledge unto her. 
And bitter, too, the cry within her heart 
At thought of it. 

Now, as they drew behind 
The silken hangings of the room, the queen 
Awoke, a step came up the circling stair, 



106 POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 

And Tristram enter' d, whom all women lov'd. 
On him the twain gaz'd through the narrow rents 
That time had worn within the hangings' folds 
And saw him stoop to greet the queen with kiss 
Such as he never yet had laid upon 
The lips of her of Brittany, and heard 
Those false ones utter their adult' rous love 
Till gloom had fallen, and King Mark, whom none 
Remember' d, softly stole into the bower 
And from behind false Tristram clove his skull 
From crown to nape. So died the sinful knight 
Belov'd of women, slain by him he wrong' d. 
But she, Isolt the Fair, beholding him 
She lov'd dead at her feet, and him she loath' d 
Holding the sword, rais'd such a storm as husht 
The outcry of those twain in hiding there. 
And swiftly moving to the casement's edge. 
And shrieking, ** Him I follow whom I love," 
Leapt into that white surge which foam'd below. 
And past to judgement as the sinful pass. 

Then came the white Isolt with Marian 
Forth from her place, and stood beside the dead 
Sir Tristram, crying, '* He is mine, none else 
May claim him dead, for he was mine, not hers ;" 
Whereat the king star'd full upon her. Face 
And voice alike he knew not, but some thought 



POSr-LAUREATE IDYLLS 107 

That she too was by Tristram wrong' d, mov'd him 
To growl in churlish answer, 

** Woman, take 
The man you claim, if you will have him dead 
Who living little lov'd you, as I deem, " 
Then turn'd and past adown the stair, but sent 
No long time after two stout churls to bear 
Dead Tristram forth where these two women will' d. 

So white Isolt bore home her murder' d lord 

Across the sea to Brittany, and there 

Entomb' d him piously like some dead saint. 

And made a pleasaunce all about where vine 

And flower grew thickly, and would walk therein 

At morning, noon, and even, silently. 

Till three slow twelvemonths past, when there 

was dole 
In Brittany. So hers they made the tomb 
She built for sinful Tristram of the Woods, 
And after that long sorrow follow' d peace. 

But one whom Tristram lov'd in earlier times. 
Maid Marian, when she was fair as she 
That wedded Mark, came when Isolt was dead 
And pac'd the pleasaunce silently at morn 
And noon and even, sowing seeds of some 



108 POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 

Strange plant from far-off lands, that bloom' d when 

next 
The summer came, in fair white silver bells 
Of fragrance such as no man in that land 
Had knowledge of, and by the tomb of him 
All women lov'd she laid the liery-edg'd 
And many-wrinkl'd shells that hold within 
Themselves the voices of the sea. And when 
The autumn tempests came upon that shore. 
Driven from streaming seas, she flitted through 
Her wind-torn, faded, dripping pleasaunce like 
Some wan leaf flying before a gale. And high 
At such times shrill' d her voice in broken song. 
That seem'd the harsh note of some bird at sea. 

** False life ! false love ! Oh, why was I deceiv'd ? 

False heart ! false love, that I, poor maid, believ'd ! 

False life ! false love, that me of hope bereav'd ! 

False heart, false love ! 

False lips ! false tongue that spake false vows to me ! 

False face ! false eyes, whence truth did turn and flee ! 

False hand ! false heart that brake sweet love's decree ! 

False life! false love!" 

But when the spring was nigh there came to her 

A little comfort from the budding leaf. 

As still she pac'd the pleasaunce sowing seeds 



POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 109 i 

I 

Of that strange plant, and year by year there ; 

bloom' d 
Within it such a wilderness of branch 
And flower and wandering vine as none had seen 
The like. Now fifty tides of Martinmas ; 

Were past and over when there came a gale ; 

Fiercer than any on that wind-swept coast, j 

And in the night above the storm some heard i 

The song that ancient Marian sang at whiles \ 

Of false love and false life, and hearing shook 
With fear of some dread thing. ; 

But those who stirr'd 
Upon the morrow earhest beheld 

Within the pleasaunce, on the tomb of him ■ 

All women lov'd, the dead maid Marian. i 

About her brows was wound a faded scarf 1 

That dead Sir Tristram wore as knight of hers \ 

Full sixty dusty summers back at some 

Forgotten tourney held in Brittany, i 

And in her hand was claspt a golden chain 

That he had given her, and some there were \ 

Who held that death had made her fair again, ; 

Working a miracle for very ruth. ; 

So past her soul to judgement and its rest. 

But when three days were past there stood ten j 

maids 1 



110 POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 

Arow within the pleasaunce strewing blooms 
Of latest autumn on the tomb disturbed 
Once more to hold the dust of Marian. 

Full quickly glide the years, and none of all 
Who knew that land in those dim days are left. 
Yet still the pleasaunce shows an isle of green 
Midmost of a wide, open, herbless space, 
A desolate, waste country no man tills. 



POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 111 \ 

GAWAIN AND MARJORIE j 

ARGUMENT i 

" See, saiv, Margery Daiv : -^ 

Sold her bed and lay on stratv.'"'' ' • 

\ 

The first born son of Lot and Bellicent, ] 

Gawain, in far-ofF days of striplinghood, — : 

Before men call' d him ' * false " or * * light of love, ' ' ; 

And yet the same, for as the boy, the man, — ; 
Half-aimless wandering upon a day 

In sweet mid-summer of the Orcades, \ 

Slack-footed under heat and thirst, had come \ 

To a lone fountain iu the woods, and bode, : 

List'ning the tinkling fall of waters cool ■'. 

And watching the swift arrow-flight of birds. ^ 

Tall as a man was Gawain, yet in sooth \ 

The prince was but a lad in years, and all \ 

The curves of his lithe body spoke the boy ; \ 

But let a twelvemonth pass and these would pass. ' 

So stood the time with restless Gawain, who ; 

By fits and starts chaf'd at the island ways, \ 

And gladly would have left the court of Lot \ 

For lands to southward, but that Bellicent j 

Had pray'd him **Stay a little," and again, \ 

*^Ostay!" 1 



V 



112 POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 

Now, as it hapt, to quiet lull'd 
By fall of waters and by stir of leaves,. 
He past the gates of sleep before he knew. 
And woke to find the shadows trebl'd, while 
A face was looking into his with eyes 
Darker than water in a sunless pool : 
A maid scarce two years younger than himself. 
A gown clung round her, leaving feet and arms 
Bare to the summer's sun, and down her back 
There roll'd the rippling blackness of her hair 
That sparkl'd like the feathers oi the daw. 

All this young Gawain saw, half won from sleep. 
And then his marvel had found tongue, but she. 
The maid, a little drawing to one side. 
Took up a lute, and twanging all the strings 
A moment's space, sent out her voice in song 
That maz'd the hearer, who had never known 
There might be aught so sweet this side of heaven. 

** Wind, sun, and rain ! and sweet the murmurs be 

Of rill and runlet tinkling to the sea : 

Yet not so sweet as sweet Love's voice to me. 

** Rain, wind, and sun! and dear the wood paths 

are. 
And dear the glimmering of the evening star. 
But not so dear as Love's step heard from far. 



POST-LAUREATE IDTLLS 113 

*' Sun, rain, and wind ! and fair all blossoms shine ; 
Fairer are moonbeams thro' the quivering vine : 
Fairer are Love's eyes looking into mine. 

** Fair, sweet, and dear! and light of heart am I! 
Dear, fair and sweet ! I cannot choose but cry. 
Sweet, fair, and dear! Oh, love me, or I die! " 

So ran the words, and when the lute had twang' d 
Itself to silence, and the song had end. 
The maid had turn'd to pass adown the wood 
Without a word in parting. Gawain then — 
**Fair, sweet, and dear, so seems thy song to me : 
What may they call thee, singer ? ' ' 

** Marjorie," 
The maid gave answer. Then the prince : 

** Thou art 
No maid o^ Orkney, with such eyes and hair." 
To w^hich the other : 

** No, but since my life 
Was pluckt from welter of down-stream.ing seas 
In some wild storm, so they that sav'd me say. 
None other home than Orkney have I known." 
Then by degrees in question and reply. 
Did Gawain learn the maiden's history. 
Simple enough and like the maid herself: 
For after that chance rescue from the sea. 



114 POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 

The rough shore folk, kind after their rough kind. 
Had made her welcome unto all they had. 
And she, content, had dwelt with them till now. 
And once a damsel from King Arthur's court 
Had taught her songs ; she knew not what they 

meant. 
But lov'd to sing them to the damsel's lute. 
She ceased and turn'd on Gawain a full face. 
And crying, ** An it please you, sir, farewell," 
Was gone as lightly as the thistle-down 
Is blown along upon a summer breeze. 
Then Gawain, rising, strode back slow to court. 
Musing the while upon the maid whose hair 
Outmatch' d the daw's for blackness, and whose eyes 
Gleam' d like the water in a sunless pool. 
And on the morrow sought the forest fount. 
And on the morrow after, and again 
Until a week was past, yet never saw 
Her whom he would, and day by day grew sick 
At heart, till all the court had talk of it. 
The queen alone, out of her mother wit 
At last made happy hazard of the cause. 
And drew from him the story of his love ; 
And, for she hoped this love might keep the prince 
At Orkney ever, set herself to find 
The maid, and finding, brought her to the court 
To serve as maid of honour till the time 



POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 115 

Were ripe for her and Gawain to be wed. 
Then, thinking, ** All is well for them and me," 
Bided content. 

Months sped till twelve wore past. 
And still Maid Marjorie bode at the court ; 
And Gawain likewise bode, till through his blood 
Ran sudden promptings like to drive him hence 
Ere long, forgetful of Maid Marjorie 
Or Bellicent. Now, as it hapt, there came 
Rumours of Arthur to the Orkney court. 
And how ne beat the heathen down, and how 
He fain would build a kingdom in the south 
And rear a throne and reign for love of Christ, 
And how all brave knights crav'd to serve with him. 
This Gawain heard, and, fir'd with knightly zeal. 
Past in an hour from boy to man, and took 
His armour from the hall, and girt his sword 
Upon his thigh, mounted his horse and rode 
Away to Arthur in the far southwest. 
With scarce a word of parting. 

Then the maid. 
Who until Gawain went knew not her heart. 
Felt that her heart was reft from her, and droopt 
Like some dark lily in an August noon ; 
And all the court were ware and pitied her. 



116 POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 

Save one, who fain had drawn Prince Gawain's 

love 
To her, and failing, hated all men sore. 
But most the maid in favour at the court. 

Slow wan'd the months, and scant the tidings brought 

Of Gawain till a year had past, and then 

A rumour blown about the court proclaim' d 

The prince was yet with Arthur, and was made 

One of the Table Round, and now was fam'd 

As much for conquest in the court of Love 

As service in the field or tournament. 

Many a noble maid, so blew about 

The word, had caught the young knight's fancy, 

caught. 
But failed to hold, save for a weeic or month. 
And he had gone his way and left the maid 
To grieve, and all men call'd him ** light of love, " 
** False Gawain," too, but naught did Gawain care. 
Now when the accusing whisper reach' d the queen. 
She laid command no tongue should tell the tale 
To Marjorie ; but one, the vengeful maid 
Past o'er by Gawain, brought the flying word 
To Marjorie, and, fierce with spite, told all. 

This when the damsel Gawain first had lov'd 
Heard but still clung to hope, she straightway came 



POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 117 

To Bellicent beseeching that the queen 
Would grant her escort of some faithful squire. 
That she might go herself to Arthur's court 
Of Camelot ; and pitying Bellicent, 
Making no question, knowing well the cause. 
Granted the boon, but swell' d it till the maid 
Was 'compani'd befitting one of rank. 

Then followed weary days, for first there came 
The passage over seas, and journey rough 
By ways of peril next, until they drew 
Nigh unto Arthur's city of the West, 
The hundred-tower' d Camelot. 

It hapt 
That day the king rode forth alone, and met 
The damsel and her train ; she knew him not. 
But staying him besought his kingly grace 
To tell her if Prince Gawain yet abode 
Within that city. These were all her words. 
Yet her whole hist'ry trembl'd in her voice, 
Flusht In the rose upon her cheek. 

Then he. 
The blameless king, thought in himself, ** This maid 
Is one our Gawain light has lightly lov'd ; " 
And then to her : — ** The knight of whom you ask 
Is absent far upon a quest of mine ; 



118 POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 

Not for a month will he return — but bide 
You here at court that space. I am the king." 

So Marjorie abode with Guinevere, 
To whom the king that night unbarr'd his thought 
And added, ** When the prince returns, those twain 
Shall be made one by Dubric, shall they not ? " 
And she : ** Your will is ever mine, my lord," 
And set herself" to bring the thing to pass. 

Now when the month had end and he came not. 
And yet another month and still he lagg'd. 
Maid Marjorie, boding ill, crav'd to be free. 
To go and seek him ; and the kindly king. 
Doubtful, but fearing to deny the maid. 
Let her go forth in charge of good Sir Bors. 
Three days they rode, till on an eventide 
They came to a lone castle on a crag. 
Empty in seeming while the gate swung wide. 
And, for they needed shelter, enter' d. Scarce 
The band had clear' d the archway, ere the gate 
Clang' d to behind them, and an evil host 
Who made that dismal place their robbers' nest 
Fell on the slender train with swarming force. 
Disarm' d and bound them, though Sir Bors fought 
hard. 



P OST-LA UR EA TE ID TLLS 119 

Then Marjorie, who in woman-fear had cower' d 
Till now within her litter, drew aside 
The hangings. Mov'd by her strange beauty, yet 
Still more by her sweet voice beseeching them. 
The host, scarce knowing why, made pause. Then 

she, 
Fing'ring her lute, sang as she once had sung 
To Gawain on that day when first they met. 
And when the song was done, she crav'd from these 
Freedom for all her train, and in exchange 
Offer' d her litter and rich hangings. They, 
Won by the sweetness of the song, or fill'd 
With sudden madness never felt before. 
Gave all she ask'd and set their captives free. 

That night they lay on damp and mouldy straw 

Within a lowly hovel in the wood. 

And on the morrow would have gone once more 

Upon their quest had not a fever seiz'd 

The maid and held her fast ; and good Sir Bors, 

Knowing the deadly fever of that land. 

Was ware the end was near. 

So past two days. 
And on the third they heard the jingling reins 
Of horses, and a train of knights and dames 
Drew near and stay'd to rest. Sir Bors, alert. 
Amongst them spying Gawain close to one 



120 POST-LAUREATE IDYLLS 

Whose name was lightly tost about the court, — 
The subtle Vivien, — pluckt him by the sleeve. 
Crying * * Come hence with me ! " And Gawain went 
And after them stole Vivien, and the three, 
Ent'ring the hovel, came where Marjorie lay 
Moaning with fever on her bed of straw. 
She, feeling subtly the fine Gawain' s eyes 
Upon her bent in wonder, open'd hers. 
Half rais'd herself, and stretching out her arms 
Toward him, gave a joyful cry, and past 
V/ithout more utterance where no soul is vext 
With sighing or the myriad pains of earth. 
So died the maid Prince Gawain first had lov'd. 

He, when he saw the damsel dead, and heard 
The voice of good Sir Bors, ** Your work, my 

Prince!" 
Had felt a pain much like remorse within. 
And would have stay'd to see that all was done 
Fitting the time and her, but Vivien came 
And wound her arms about his neck, and said 
This thing and that thing of her wiliness : 
So maz'd by Vivien was light Gawain' s thought 
That he departed leaving all to Bors. 

Four days had end, and into Camelot 
Light Gawain rode with Vivien beside. 



POSr-LAUREATE W7'LLS 121 

But all the walls were hung with black, and all 
The bells made music doleful from their towers. 
Forth from the palace came a train of maids 
Chanting a hymn, and after, on a bier 
Pall'd all in samite blackness, lay the maid 
Whose love had been her doom. King, queen, and 

court 
Pac'd slowly after, and King Arthur bent 
A brow of gloom on Gawain, but said naught. 
Then Gawain turn'd and follow' d the dark train 
Till all was done, the while that music roll'd 
Sadly above the head of Marjorie. 
Then, for the man was light, he past once more 
To his light loves ; and all that was, became 
Erewhile to him as that which never hapt. 
Such honour Gawain did to Arthur's court. 



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